When You're Ready
by Dumbledoor
Summary: All-human. Bella really likes Edward, but she thinks he's never gonna like her back. Some of her thoughts on her unrequited love. And some more of her thoughts when she realizes she might be wrong after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_.**

* * *

><p>You wanna know why I'm here, waiting in front of the library doors when I really should be studying for my Physics final next week?<p>

More than likely you don't. When have you ever cared, really? And, more importantly, why would you?

No matter. I am here, thinking, hoping beyond what is possible, and wanting what I shouldn't. My feet hurt from the cold. Cheap-ass boots that look great but wear terribly.

"Hey, Ben, wait up!" yells a girls when she leaves-yelling to her boyfriend, or loved one, or tonight's hookup. I don't know; it's hard to tell nowadays.

And then _you_ walk out. My heart flips just a bit.

But then you walk down the stairs, not minding the girl now standing behind you. You're leaving me.

"Hey, Edward!"

"Huh?" You look! "Oh. Hey, Bella. What's up?" I walk to you, you walk to me, and the not awkward thing is that we end up talking.

I say, "Hey, I was just going to the library. You?"

I'm thinking of kissing you, even though I've never given any indication of wishing so. Is this bad?

You say, "Back to my dorm. Jasper and I are gonna eat, then maybe try to study."

What you're wearing really intimidates me. The clothes aren't the problem, really. It's more you that intimidates me and scares me and keeps pushing my mind to dream. As if I can maybe wear your dark gray jacket someday, or rummage through your messenger bag and rifle through your papers, your notes, your life.

"Yeah, finals week is gonne be hell," I comment.

"Tell me about it," you say, smiling.

The thing is, I _do_ want to tell you about it. You shouldn't be left in the dark. You should know how I feel, know why I keep thinking you're the best guy there is, the handsomest, the kindest, the smartest, the sweetest…

"But hey, at least the semester's finally over, right? Can't wait to get home after this." Then I can't think hard and speak at the same time. I'm just thinking: you you you.

"I know. What are you doing for break?"

Are you asking because you're polite? Or can you maybe turn that politeness into something else?

"Just staying at home, work part-time maybe. You?"

"A little of the same, except with a snowboard trip thrown in."

I am becoming obsessed with looking at you.

"Wow."

And then I stumble upon words to say.

"Yeah, so, I'll see you around 'kay? I don't want to keep you from studying."

I agree. "OK. Good luck on your finals!"

Walking away from this is easier than I thought. Must be from all the practice I've had.

I look back. You're walking away, much farther than I expected. Something hurts, but I tell myself that nothing's even happened. I go to the library and sit in one isolated desks, the one that overlooks all the students walking. Here I am, hoping to see you.

My textbook and my laptop sit right in front of me, and, knowing that I have a lot of homework to do, still I face toward the window. I look toward the grass and I feel giddy when I see you walk with your friend Jasper.

I have become a most passive stalker, in the least creepy sense. It occurs to me that I've been here for hours.

Have I accomplished anything? No. My stomach just growls loudly, and I ache as I shy away from the metaphor of emptiness.

My phone vibrates. It's my dad. I get up, fix my stuff, and leave.

"Dad?" I call him again.

"Bella, hey, what time are you coming home?"

Today's a Friday. Huh. Didn't even notice.

"Oh, yeah, I might be home a little late, sorry I just got busy with studying." And looking at a certain boy's face.

"OK, just be sure to get home before it gets too cold. See you then, bye."

I walk back to my dorm, passing by all the buildings and the people. Everything is quiet and biting cold. My feet are starting to hurt again. I head for one last pit stop, one more detour that is sort of spontaneous but probably subconsciously determined.

My friend Alice's. I know we're only freshmen, all of us, but I know there's a party near her dorm. There's always a party somewhere there, and everyone's always invited.

Do I feel nervous? Boy, _do_ I. When I knock on Alice's door all I think about is dropping off my stuff and fixing my hair and catching your attention.

"Bella, hey! Are you going to Frankie's party with me?" she asks. "I'm not really going to stay. I'm just going to meet up with Jasper and Rosalie."

Jasper and Rosalie were her friends in high school.

Alice pulls me in her dorm. "Come on! You can leave your stuff and just come back later. We still have an hour, so let's just hang! You hungry?"

"No, I've only been studying." I feel so lame next to her, seeing all her cool stuff in her dorm. She's a fantastic person who gets everything she wants.

An hour later, we are at the party, and Alice searches everywhere for Jasper and Rosalie. I am nervous, and I act excited, because I knew you were gonna be here.

And, just like in the library, you suddenly walk in. I skip a breath.

You look surprised to see me. "Hey, Bella!"

"Hi, Edward." I giggle, as in,_ Look, we see each other again. As if it were coincidence._

A few minutes of talking, where I don't really fit in because I don't know what you guys all talk about, and then we leave. Just like that, there's the four of us, Jasper, Alice, you and I. Rose stayed at the party, for which I didn't really care much.

Why don't you start a conversation? Why don't _I_?

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you?" I release a breath and you smile.

"I'm good. Everything's good, you?"

"I'm fine. Glad the semester's about to end." Yeah, we say the same things. But I feel the thrill anyway. I'm glad for this, as much as this sickens some part of me.

Because you really don't like me like that. I see you with other girls all the time, walking them someplace and sometimes taking them out to lunch. It's not your fault, really. It was mine.

Should've been more interesting. Should've joined that club to make more friends. Should've never taken all these damn math classes.

When you smile and don't say a thing, I fear it's getting awkward, and I really don't like that I can't detach myself from the situation.

I say, jokingly, "I'm gonna miss you."

You laugh, "We'll catch up before the break ends."

"D'you really mean that?" I say quietly, off into the distance.

"What?"

And then Alice and Jasper see something that interests them, and they tell it to us. I walk, always staying beside you, wishing you'd see that there _could_ be an us, if you'd just reach for my hand and keep it in yours.

My phone vibrates, and I know it's my dad.

I don't answer.

It isn't a big deal–nothing else matters with you–and I keep walking, keep that small distance between our arms just in case some wind blows and you come closer to me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_.**

I know it's been two years, but do you remember that one class we had together–Chemistry? It was Wednesday and Friday mornings. I didn't sit with you until two weeks in; _boy_, was I _glad_ when I did.

You'd talk to me when I really wanted to pay attention. You distracted me. I almost failed that class and never told you about it.

I also never told you how much it meant to me when you'd wait for me in front of the lecture hall, you and your smile and your patience.

You told me you really liked chemistry, and I wondered why in the hell you would (I liked to curse in front of you; but later regretted it). For me, chemistry was annoying, hard even. But for you, you seemed interested in it, and I wanted to keep up with you so we could discuss and maybe study together.

That never really happened, did it? I'd never been brave enough to do _that_.

And now there you are, talking to a friend; and here I am, sitting by myself. I've been in this situation so many times that I've stopped questioning what's wrong with me.

I smile to myself, finding that I take comfort in this acceptance–this resignation–of myself.

Today, I only have two classes. Math and Expos. Math, I don't mind. Expository Writing, however, is a different story. Let's just say that me and writing don't go along well.

We're in one of the school's computer labs, but you haven't seen me. I wish you wouldn't, because for one, I'm in the middle of writing my essay, and for another, I don't know what to say around you anymore without hoping too much and getting too little.

_In her essay, Joan Didion writes about idneuas˚kjsfisßjdfkdhf∑œdkn jfsπœœ∆Ω≈d ahhhh I hate expos :D _

_Yes. This is what I do to myself._

"Bella?"

I hold the backspace button as I turn to your voice.

"Oh, hey!"

"Doing homework?" I wonder where your friend's gone.

"Barely," I confess. "I _hate_ expos."

You nod in understanding, though I'm pretty sure I heard from Alice that you're a good writer. "Yeah, it really sucks writing those essays every week."

"What are you doing right now?" I ask you, and you tell me you're just printing stuff out. You don't have class today.

"Wow, good schedule," I tell you.

I should ask you something, but I know all the answers to those questions. You're a Business major, Economics Minor, hoping to one day go to Law School (but that's your _really_ long-term plan, you told me and Alice one time). You're in the triathlon club, and you're thinking of joining one of those professional business societies that do a lot of volunteering and crap.

I also can't ask you about your family, because I know it's something really personal for you, and you only discussed it when Rosalie pulled the truth out of you.

And I know for a fact that, if I ask you a series of questions that started with, for instance, "Would you go out with me?" you'd say no.

Why?

Well, actually, I don't know. I see no reason why you would, or wouldn't, or why you'd answer at all. I can't read your emotions about me, if you have any of them for me. And, sadly, the bottom line is I'm scared.

%

Alice, whom I haven't seen since September because she went to study abroad, calls me and tells me that we have plans tonight. You and me and Jasper and the whole lot.

"Just a simple dinner, my parents know how much I like you guys, so they went and gave me their credit card to treat all of us to a meal! Won't it be great?"

"Yeah, where are we going? Do you know?"

We go to an Italian restaurant down town. Only about half of us is over twenty-one, and it's that half that spends most of Mr. Brandon's money.

Emmett, Rosalie's boyfriend of six months now, graciously (or illegally, depending what mood you're in) offers her a sip of his drink.

You, being the same age as me and relying only on soda to provide any sort of boost, graciously snicker at Rose and Em's lovesick behavior.

I egg you on this discussion. I like talking about relationships with you. I hope you haven't noticed.

"I think it's sweet that they show so much affection around each other," I say quietly.

"There's nothing wrong with that," you say, "but try hanging around them almost everyday. It's worse this sem 'coz Emmett's my roommate."

"That would get pretty old."

"Did you hear about that new movie that came out?"

I think my brain just spikes up and I'm way more alert than I anticipated.

"What movie?" I say.

You tell me about this new movie. I don't think it really interests me, but I'm waiting.

"Do you want to go watch it with us?"

"Yes."

"Great."

"Yeah."

Then you move on to another topic. I'm not even sure who we're going with, but do you think I really care about that?


	3. Chapter 3

**Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_.**

Can you believe I did something _really really _bizarre today? I don't want to call it _good_, but if I had to describe it any other way, I'd say what I did was pretty cool.

See, Edward, I like you. I would want you to know, and I would be telling you in person, except I'm still kinda reeling from the experience, and you have that Animal Rescue volunteer thing going on 'til 7:00.

I'd just gotten here from home–Charlie let me drive the car today–and I was walking to my first class, which started at 9:15.

Well, you know the road that passes by all those little restaurants and apartments? I was walking there and then all of a sudden I passed by Stink Woman.

You do know who I'm talking about, right? Mid-fifties, possibly homeless, always sits outside the dirty cafe and bar at the corner of Lucille's and Blossom, kinda stinks (hence her name). She's impossibly tiny for a middle-aged woman. We passed her one time together, after we went to the bookstore to get our Chem textbooks. We ignored her, of course, but later we felt bad for her. But then we suspected–no, we _imagined_ she had an interesting story that kept her coming back out the streets.

_Any_way, I was walking to my class when I passed her. She was sitting cross-legged, as always, which showed her skinned pale knees and dirty gray socks. Her gray hair was a mess.

I was gonna just go along like nothing was my business when all of a sudden I got mad.

As in, my face started burning with something that was not caused externally. Or maybe it was.

It was biting cold out, you know, what with it being early February. It still is cold right now, I see the wind has just picked up. But this morning, it was really _too_ cold. Too cold for an old woman in a frayed green sweater and dank dirty jeans and dirty peach Keds.

_Damn this woman, damn the world, damn that song I was listening to on the radio, damn damn double damn!_ was my thought.

Nobody would notice her. Well, it wasn't like she was showcasing anything, really. It seemed like just another day for her, sitting against the sidewall of the dirty café, sitting like life was just made for that.

I unzipped my dark blue puffy jacket, the one with the fake fur on the hood, attached gloves and all, and handed it to her without a word.

Stinky gasped. "What."

I dropped the jacket on her lap, covering up her dirty knees and a small part of the dirty ground underneath.

"Take it," I said. Already I felt detached to the jacket, as if nothing was amiss. I didn't even feel the frosty air yet.

Her dirty, wrinkled face looked at me, and I saw that she had blue eyes. They were teary.

And then she sobbed really loud.

"Oh dear," I said really quickly, and then I bolted.

I mean. I ran out as soon as I heard her cry. Putting my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, I ran to my class, and I ignored the people staring.

%

Jessica Stanley, a friend I met in Economics class, gasps when she sees me in the afternoon. We meet up in the library on Wednesdays.

"Why in the world aren't you wearing a coat? It's _freezing_ out," she scolds.

I grin. "It's a long story."

She shakes her head. "Bella, you are extremely underdressed. We were supposed to go to the movies today, but I don't know if we're gonna leave on time if we have to go all the way to my dorm to get you something to wear!"

"No, I'll be fine." Actually, I probably _won't _be fine. My American Eagle hoodie can only do so much, and skinny jeans were never good insulators. "But why are we going to the movies? Are there any good ones out? I have a quiz tomorrow."

"Student discount day," she explained. "Don't you know? Plus, all the other annoying little kids won't be there."

Of course I know. That's the day you and I went to the movies, with three other people I barely got to know because I was careful not to make a fool of myself in front of your friends. I think, however, I overdid it, and I now seem like an uptight nerd who can't handle a bit of honest opinion.

My phone buzzes. It's Alice.

"Hey, Alice just asked if we want to go with her to see _New Year's Eve_. Isn't that the one with all those celebrities?"

Jessica makes a face. "Yeah, doesn't really sound like a blockbuster hit–but if there's nothing else, I'm in."

Two boys talk really loudly next to us. We roll our eyes.

"No, dude, if one of the atom's has a really high formal charge, then you can't use that!"

"No way."

"Yeah! There's a reason they keep giving us nitrogen dioxide. Shit trips us up like crazy with the bonds." Then they walk away.

"Freshmen," Jessica snickers next to me.

%

I wasn't expecting you to be here, but here you are! You're wearing that gray jacket again. It's nice to see you, outside school like this again.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming with us," I say.

Of course, you smile. "And miss watching _New Year's Eve_? No way." You roll your eyes. "Well, actually. I don't care what we watch. I just don't like studying. What about you? How was your weekend?"

"It went fine. I just stayed at home, while my dad stayed at the station. He's been kinda busy these days." I want to tell you more about my day today, but there's too many people around, and I see Alice eyeing us while she gets everybody's tickets.

With a motion, everybody follows Alice to the theatre. You let me walk in front of you, and open the door for me like a gentleman. You should stop doing these little things that get girls to fall for you.

"Thanks," I say, and I hope you read into it just a bit more.

The previews come on, and everyone's seated and chatting. You offer me some popcorn, and, although I'm a bit nervous for an appetite, I do anything that lets my hand possibly come into contact with yours.

And it–our hands coming into contact–happens. Thank God it happens a lot. Right now, our knees are even touching. My dark blue jeans right against yours, a nice twinge of contrast with the shading that tells me we are from two different bodies momentarily connected together.

Gah. If you could read my mind. I sicken me, really. I lean further back, finding that this gives the impression that I am relaxed and bored.

I look at you, and you're looking at me with a knowing smile on your face. Your eyes are laughing at me.

"What?" I mouth, shrugging, as if, _What? I find this movie boring. _

Later, I'm gonna look up coyness in the Internet. I need to be better at this sort of things.

My left knee is still touching your right, and it looks as if neither of us is going to move; that's fine by me.

When the movie ends, and everyone is saying how horrible of a movie that was, you tell me goodnight and "see you tomorrow".

Jessica figures it out when we're headed to her dorm. Tonight, I'm sleeping over. I already called Charlie, and he said it was fine. I did this plenty of times that he trusts I won't mess up along the way.

While she pulls out the spare mattress rolled up messily in her closet, she grins and shakes her head at me. "Bella, Bella, you never told me you liked Edward."

"Why would I tell you such a thing? It's not even true," I immediately say.

She takes no offense, which comes pretty expectedly because I sound weak. "Uh _huh_. Yeah right. It's OK to tell your feelings, Bella; no need to keep them secret from me. Especially when it's about you wanting to get with Edward Cullen!"

I laugh. "It's nothing! I like him, yeah, but doesn't everybody?"

"Well, that's true, but there's only a certain amount of people he _could_ date, out of the many who want him."

"What? That sounds weird. What do you mean there's only a certain amount of people he could date?"

Jess laughs. "Not like he's not _allowed_ or anything. I just mean, you guys are really close–"

"We are? No we're not."

"_Relatively_. I'm trying to encourage you, Bella."

To do what? "To what?"

She laughs. "You know."

"No."

"You don't know?" she says skeptically, figuring it out again.

"Don't tell anyone!" I say in defeat.

Jess squeals. "Knew it! I saw you two and I was like, oh, my, God; Bella likes a boy!"

I shake my head. "I'm gonna sleep."

She keeps talking as I lay my head on the pillow.

"And then, when I saw you guys sit next to each other in the movie, I said to myself, whoa! Bella's stepping it up! You guys will look really cute together, and he's a really good guy..."

Albeit annoying, Jess's speech lulls me into a good dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_.**

* * *

><p>I woke up the next day with little to do. I had homework, lots of it, and I had a meeting with the Dean about my classes in the spring, but nothing overly stressful. Last week, Alice had asked me to join a Dog Walking Club. She's always wanted a pet, but her parents never allowed her to. I myself have only ever owned a cat—named Smith—and it died when I was nine. So, after classes, when everybody had a free period, I met up with the Dog Walking Club members in the park, where Alice was waiting and beaming at me.<p>

"Did you wear sneakers? Oh my God what the hell is with your sneakers?" said Alice.

"What do you mean? They're Asics. Everyone has them."

She eyed them more keenly. "But they're, like, really dirty." It was true.

"I haven't cleaned them in ages," I said by way of explanation. "Last time I used them I was in high school." I still remember it actually. It was the mile run, and it had been a particularly muddy day, where half the girls quit altogether and I was left to run by myself.

Alice shook her head. "As long as they don't stink."

"They don't, actually," I said hotly. "When's this thing going to start? I wanna see the little puppies."

%

I was assigned a three-year-old Neapolitan mastiff, weighing in at a measly (so the guide named Rob told me) 135 pounds.

"This thing looks like melting ice cream," I said to Alice when Rob had turned away.

The dog, named Hunter, looked at me with its massive drooping head. It was sitting down, staring at me, and if the size alone wasn't intimidating (its head reached past my hips) then the drool that trailed down its massive jaw was enough to convince me that he wanted to eat me.

"He looks…" Alice said, barely able to contain her laughter at the sight of giant Hunter and petite me holding his leash. "He looks adorable!"

"Alice! Look at it—"  
>"It's a <em>he<em>, not an it," she said sternly, petting her assigned dog gently. She got a greyhound, which was all limbs and no muscle, quite the opposite of mine.

"Well, he looks like several layers of towels. Why does his head have to be so big?"

"You'll hurt his feelings," she said in between giggles.

"Switch! I want the greyhound!"

"No way! My dog looks like the one from _50/50_."

I think it was actually the same breed from _50/50_. "But Alice, he's scary-looking."

"You can't be scared. You have to be dominant!"

"You think this is a joke?" I looked down at Hunter again, who seemed perfectly content just lazying around. "What if he eats me? He's a monster. His paws are bigger than my fist. He's not even cute."

This went on, even after Rob repeatedly assured me that Hunter was, in fact, one of the gentlest creatures in the shelter.

"He's a bit lazy, but he likes to go for walks," Rob said. "His previous owners trained him really well, they just didn't have enough time on their hands. It happens a lot, especially in the city."

Rob turned to everyone and explained that everyone was free to roam about the park and walk their newfound friend for a couple of hours. Everyone was given a plastic bag for poop and two water bottles.

%

Eventually, even I had to admit that Hunter was a terrific "walking companion", as dogs are often referred nowadays. Whether it was the meat in my flesh or the water bottles in my vest pocket, he trailed beside me obediently, keeping pace with his massive paws.

"You know," I said to him as we took to the forest walkways, "even though you have about 30 pounds on me, I kinda trust you now."

The droopy layers of skin around his jaw flapped in a really disgusting way, but he looked adorable nonetheless.

"Bella!"

Someone came up behind me. It was Jacob Black, being pulled by an energetic looking Golden Retriever.

"Hey, Jacob!" Jacob was a family friend. We were of the same age, but never really close until we went to the same college. He pulled a little on the Golden Retriever's leash and they slowed to our pace.

"She's been skipping around this whole time," Jacob explained, breathing heavily. "Of course, it doesn't help that I feel so out of shape."

I laughed, if only to formulate a response.

We walked together for the rest of the time allotted, and it couldn't have been any simpler. Two people walking two dogs.

"I could get used to this," I told him, a surprisingly easy tone in my voice.

He smiled uncertainly, which I laughed at. "I dunno… I don't think Missy likes me. And here I thought I was good at dogs. I've never had a pet before. I asked for a Dachsund once, but my dad said I would just overfeed it or something."

I really appreciated all his confidence in me, but I had a feeling all his confessions weren't for my ears. I was much too preoccupied by thoughts of you, as is ever obvious. I didn't deserve this much confidence.

Cannot let you go. Even if I focus on the situation, I'm still thinking of you.

"We should get back," I said.

"Yeah," he answered. I felt his mind was wandering to other things as well.

%

So, you heard about me and the Dog Walking Club? Great, because I joined it partly because you like animals.

"I heard you walked a mastiff," you told me when you, me, and Alice had lunch. Thursdays had become our thing ever since the semester started. It would be a dream come true if Alice weren't there, but so far she hasn't missed a single weekly meeting, as I have.

You've missed one, though. I won't get into that, not when you're here finally.

I described to you Hunter, who seemed to really interest you so it made me giddy to describe each detail I could remember, and you listened really well, as I thought you would.

"I didn't know you liked dogs," you said, with a smile on your lips.

"Well, I'm no animal rescuer or anything, but why wouldn't I like dogs? They're fine," I said. We talked about stuff like that, and every little topic felt special somehow.

By the end of the hour, you walked me to my class (Psychology, yet another elective requirement).

The campus is kinda beautiful, isn't it? What with all the other students rushing by, and the cold air that keeps us close and slow-moving—nothing of that jumpy, uncontrolled high I could never keep up with when it's summer.

What I liked about the cold is, when you catch me looking at your face, I can comment with something like, "Your cheeks are so pink," or "Your eyes are watery."

Also, what I liked about today is, I plucked up the courage, the audacity, to ask you, while we were still walking, "Edward? Can you teach me how to snowboard sometime? I really wanna learn."

You made some kind of joke, tell me the details associated with going, and told me we could do it next next weekend.


End file.
